Let It Die
by elomelo
Summary: There's a fine line between love and hate but a dance of knives requires overstepping of boundaries. And what goes up must come down, be it knives or a hope for something that could never be. Drabble fic. LxLight/LightxL


**A/N:** This is inspired by the song 'Let It Die' by The Foo Fighters. I absolutely _love_ the song – one of the best from the Foo's, really - and the lyrics just reminded me of Death Note, or at least the LxLightxL aspect of it (from a yaoi fangirl's point of view, mind you). These are essentially a bunch of drabbles inspired from lyrics from the song – in _**bolded italics**_ – and I hope you enjoy them.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note. Lyrics are property of _**The Foo Fighters**__._

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**- - - Let It Die - - -**

_**Heart of gold but it lost its pride**_

Dark eyes watch him, beyond the whir of a surveillance camera. The floor is cold under him like smooth ice. The handcuffs cut into his wrist, blunt knives to the sore skin, gnawing away slowly. The once-soft wisps of hair tickling his neck are tangled. **This is inhumane, this is L.** All L. But he is not L, he is justice, wholly, supreme justice.

In time, he will discard this pride into the darkness where red eyes await, glowing with the anticipation of fresh entertainment. (His fingers crave pale skin like an addict to his drug. He wants to shatter him, promise him love and affection, break him into pieces. **Justice**.)

_**Beautiful veins and bloodshot eyes**_

He is so fragile yet so monstrous. Moulded into the form of a boy – no, no, a man, one ascending towards a Justice not fit for the world of twisted truths and hushed whispers of corruption. Doesn't he see it so blatantly laid out for him? A bed of roses is one of thorns.

So when he bites his lip so hard it bleeds – the headboard thumps against the wall (_hush now, hush_) - the other man is happy. No…happiness is non-existent in these regions, only the illusion of it lingers. Like the smell, the sounds of the night before.

Their moans fade as another morning descends upon Tokyo.

_**A simple man and his blushing bride**_

Many a sleepless night, too loud for sleep, too quiet for anything else but warm skin and white lies. But when morning came – and it came – they put on their masks, indifferent smiles, tight-lipped, passable.

Their fingers brush – accidentally, yes, of course – when reaching for the…_what was it_? Electricity almost cackles between them, the digits, the yearning bodies. Ignorant eyes can only flicker without interest.

Moments cut short by elevator doors and high-pitched squeals. She's found the perfect wedding dress, yes, perfect! It's quite tasteful – a little low cut, no? – lace, silk, the works.

He should become an actor, the detective muses, seeing the faint blush on the bronze cheeks across the table. …something about being too young…dark hair bobs in quiet agreement.

_(- it's too fancy, really, why couldn't it be just a shirt, plain, white…?)_

_**Intravenous, intertwined**_

He can't help but wish those pale fingers could unbutton faster.

The tiles are cold. This is no train but the world tremors around them.

This is not sanity. (- cold hands, smooth, like milk, like snow, the colour of unseeing eyes)

Darkness descends upon him, rough silk, chapped lips. Lines toed in the sand, washed away by waves of heat, nothing more.

_**Hearts gone cold, your hands were tied**_

He's mad, standing in the rain like that. The little voice in his head…the bells drown it…the kittens when B pushed the basket into the well. He had cried that day, so hard into the flat pillow on his bed.

Time erodes the statuette he's become, taut skin, jutting bones. The rain makes up for the tears he can't shed.

_- maybe it's a wedding_

He once believed only in himself but now he's unsure of what that is anymore.

Wounds fail to heal. He misses the old man, the weathered face, wrinkles deepening in a smile of assurance, of comfort.

He hears the rumble of a voice, breaking through the lulling rain and tinkling bells.

_- 'for whom the bell tolls'_

The voice begs to be heard, to be understood.

_**- in too deep and lost in time**_

When the towel touches his faces – returning the favour – he wonders if there was more to this than…no, of course not.

The cell phone rings. Cue music.

_**Why'd you have to go and let it die?**_

It's raining again except there's no bullshit about bells and weddings and being honest.

She knew, she always knew. So she cries softly into the folds of his pressed suit, lipstick smile against white shirt.

_There never was anything there to begin with. Kira and L. Justice served on a goddamned silver platter. This is fucked up, so damn fucked up, like us._

He's not crying. No one is. Not for a faceless man in a faceless box.

Matsuda doesn't count.

_**Why'd you have to go and let it die?**_

_- Ryuk, no, please, dammit_

_- Ryu-Ryuzaki, a-again_

_- why, I thought_

_- t-this isn't…stop, don't stop_

_- you humans are so interesting, but not for long._

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**A/N:** Review, please and thanks. ) And listen to the song: 'Let It Die' by The Foo Fighters. Nyah!


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